The First Sixteen: A Vigilante Series crime thriller novella - The Prequel Read Online Free PDF Page A

point of contact. Leclerc lived near the north-west side
of the park where the attack had taken place and regularly cut through it on
his way to his part time job as a busboy in a bistro near the eastern tip of
the downtown area.
    I
had parked the minivan on Calixa Lavalee Avenue, right where it ends inside the park, knowing that Leclerc would come
strolling along soon enough to take the path which cut through   a wooded area toward his place of work. Luck
was on my side as he was working the seven to three shift – few if any people
were around in the park in the evening with the cold and dark of February in
Montreal.
    Though
the trees bore no foliage this time of year, they were dense enough and
intermixed with enough conifers to provide me with sufficient concealment. I
saw Maxime approach, recognizing his gait as he drew
nearer, and waited, remaining motionless and being careful to avoid producing
any noticeable steam clouds as I exhaled.
    He
plodded by me, perhaps a half dozen feet away from where I waited amidst the
trees, singing softly off-key as he went, clearly intent on the tune blasting
out of the earphones hidden by his parka hood. Thank you, Sony, for the
Walkman.
    As
he moved past me, I took a quick look around to make sure nobody else was
coming along in either direction. Not a soul in sight.
    I
stepped out from amongst the trees, glancing behind me one last time before
moving in on him. I had found a twenty-four inch, wooden tee-ball bat for the
occasion which I had felt was fitting, given the baseball bat attack on Gaston Verville several months earlier. One swing and Leclerc was
going down, clearly not simply knocked off balance but, more precisely, knocked
unconscious, or worse.
    I
caught him before he hit the ground and laid him down, just long enough to
check if he was still alive. He was. Following another quick glance around, I
pulled him back up and slung him over my shoulder in a classic fireman’s carry,
he thankfully wasn’t a big man, then hustled over to the minivan parked about
fifteen feet away. I raised the back hatch, dropped him inside, yanked the earphones
off of him, and duct taped his wrists, ankles and mouth before closing the
hatch. Seconds later, I was in the driver’s seat, starting the engine and
pulling a U-turn to get the hell out of there.
    As
I headed out of the dead-end where Calixa Lavalee ended in the park, I saw a car turning in from
Rachel Street and heading toward me. We approached each other and, to my
dismay, the other car’s light bar blipped for a second or two, a brief flash of
red and blue to get my attention.
    I
slowed and so did the cop car, until we came to a stop, driver window to driver
window in opposite directions. I lowered my window and the officer at the wheel
did likewise. I noted he was alone on duty, presumably a good thing. On the
flip side, I had an unconscious man whom I’d just kidnapped a minute earlier
stored in the back of my vehicle. Even an encounter with a lone cop was likely
not a good thing.
    “ Bonsoir ,” I said through the open
window.
    “ Bonsoir ,” the officer replied then
continued in French. “Is everything alright?”
    “Everything
is fine,” I said with a smile. “I’m heading downtown to meet some friends and
turned down here not realizing the street doesn’t cut through the park to Sherbrooke .”
    “No,
you’re best to stick to the main streets on either side of the park,” the cop
replied as he smiled back. “You’re going downtown?”
    “Yes,
Crescent Street,” I confirmed.
    “Hang
a left at the corner,” the officer suggested. “Left again when the park ends at
Avenue du Parc La Fontaine. That will take you to Sherbrooke Street where you’ll turn right.”
    I
nodded. “Got it. Thanks.”
    “No
problem,” the cop replied. “Have a nice evening.”
    “You
too,” I said with a wave.
    The
cop laughed. “Yeah, right. I’m on until midnight. Have a good one.”
    I
laughed back and drove off, turning